One Step Forward
by MitziMartyn
Summary: Nothing is the same for the demon butler since Ciel's transformation and neither is able to cope with the change. Set after the second season.
1. Chapter 1

**Two Steps Back -**

''Violin? It has been a while, young master. To a casual observer it would seem that you did not wish to continue your music studies.''

Not that it mattered. They were now in possession of all the time in the world.  
Not that Sebastian cared. Their future lost its point since Ciel's transformation.  
And yet, those were the first words in a few months to disrupt the deathlike stillness of their flat in the heart of Whitechapel. The reluctantly voiced question came out without a warning and the – now so unfamiliar – sound of Sebastian's voice almost startled the boy for a second.

''Shall I pretend I have something better to do?'' replied Ciel after a while, tucking the instrument under his chin.  
He could not recall the last time he practised and his fingers probably went rusty already, but he subconsciously hoped that the slender violin bow would ease the deafening silence and maybe even become a bridge to the days gone by. No, those were not happier, that would be a self-deceit. However, they at least had a certain order, they had _meaning_.

Did the poor beneath their window, walking, talking, begging, selling, living and dying on the East End pavements have a goal?  
_They merely struggle to make it through another day, to fill their stomachs and survive the omnipresent chills. They resemble us more than we would like to admit, _pondered the child, holding the bow loosely in his delicate fingers.  
East End was a rich hunting ground and they could feast on souls without the danger of being found out anytime soon, for that part of the city belonged to the poor and the immigrants – nobody missed those and the police did not even bother investigating such matters. _  
Grubs and maggots, just like us. I used to think better of myself._

He raised the bow, trying to think of a melody he used to know so well in his past life. Some people could play with eyes closed and express easily their internal musings in prodigious musical pieces, but those were only the people with exceptional talent and years of dedicated training. Ciel was neither and so the sound came out like a screech of a dying cat.

Sebastian's sensitive ears twitched in displeasure and he shot a glance to the young master, or whatever it was what remained of him.  
The butler simply could not associate his proud and unique contractor with this dispassionate hollow shell left behind. Their whole situation was just a more elaborate form of Chinese water torture, dooming them both to see their crushing defeat every waking moment in each other's eyes.  
He gave an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temple, raising from his seat in the opposite corner of the room.

''Your technique has gone to pieces, sir, but it might be fixed.''Ciel stood frozen on the spot as Sebastian approached him, correcting the position of his small hands. The touch was brief, almost as if it did not even happen, but it was still enough to disconcert the boy.

''Thank you,'' muttered the younger demon, slowly recalling the notes of a classical piece he learnt so long ago. By Johann Stamitz? Maybe, he could not be bothered remembering. ''Tell me, Sebastian, what else could you fix?''

The butler understood immediately. ''Many things can be broken beyond repair. Humans, for example. Their emotions are pitifully fragile.''

''Which does not apply to demons as they have no emotions, of course,'' pointed out Ciel, earning a small nod from the black-haired man.

''Just like you say.''

''It is a bit of false advertising. You seem to be perfectly capable of experiencing disappointment. Or is it hatred already? That does not matter much, but disappointment and hatred are emotions, right? No, you do not need to answer.''

The demon scowled. ''What is it you are complaining about, young master? All in all, you are the one who got to keep his _pathetic _little life.''

The bow dropped on the wooden floor along with the violin. ''I never wanted this. Do you think it was my plan to end glued to someone I used to care about knowing he loathes every second by my side?'' He stormed to the door and flung it open. ''Leave, if you desire it so much. You were a good servant and if I cannot give you my soul then I can at least return to you your freedom.''

Ciel's expression remained apparently calm, but it was only a very poor mask. ''Are you deaf? Go away, Sebastian. Your services are no longer needed.''

Sebastian remained unmoved. He just gave his master a short disdainful glance and left without a word.

The Silence returned and coldly embraced the abandoned child.

Yes, they were going to spend a lot of time together.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**- One Step Closer -**

It took Ciel exactly a fortnight to find out where he made the grave mistake.

He made it, in fact, ages ago, when he did not even know about Alois Trancy's existence.

They – Ciel and Sebastian – spent together something around three years, which was a good deal of the boy's life. How old was Sebastian though? He realised he did not know. In fact, he did not know anything about his butler and just arrogantly assumed a bond between them. They were not family, they were not friends, they were nothing but partners in business.

Even though he tried to silence that voice in his head, it was clear to him now – he counted on someone who did not actually care and now he had to pay the price.

The young nobleman never admitted it aloud, his pride would not allow that, but he was at his wit's end. He could not return home and he did not want to call Sebastian back. That would mean he won, that Ciel was really helpless without him. Besides that, Sebastian hated him

Instead he slept. A lot. He also watched people on the street beneath his window - beggars, prostitutes, costermongers, English, Polish, Irish, Jewish, Welsh, Scottish, men, women and children alike.

They all looked the same from the distance between the pavement and his room just under the roof, like ants on their unvarying ways.

One day he would have to go downstairs and feed himself, but for now he felt just fine. No, Ciel did not hesitate, that was not his style - taking people's lives did not bother his conscience, not in the slightest. On the other hand, once he would take someone else's soul, it would mean he accepted his fate and he was not ready to do so, not yet.

* * *

Now it has been sixteen days since Sebastian left. It was so late that even the little watercress-seller headed home – if she had one, Ciel could not know – clutching the empty basket to her washed out pinafore. He noticed her a few days ago, because of her long fair hair that reminded him of... no, there was no use thinking about the people he used to know. He did not need them when he was alive and so this unnecessary sentiment seemed only to add pathos to his already unfortunate situation.

Sleep was a luxury for the demons, he knew that much from his, once so loyal, butler. One of the last pleasant things left in his new life and a good way to kill a few hours out of the eternity ahead.  
Sometime he just lied in the bed, composing letters to Sebastian. Some of them were filled with rage, some were more like fragments of regret's poetry and some were just normal letters about this and that. About the days gone by, about things Ciel wanted to know, about nothing. About everything. Not that he would care about that cat-obsessed moron. Not in the slightest.  
Not.  
At.  
All.  
He knew that if he managed to repeat this to himself for long enough, the lie would eventually turn into the purest truth, but how long was long enough?  
Everything changed since Ciel's transformation. His wishes were fulfilled, he got his revenge and destroyed those who dared to stain the name Phantomhive with their filthy hands.  
After that he was supposed to hand his pretty little soul to Sebastian and die, just like his tormentors planned. He would die, but he would be the winner. The way his whole plan crashed in front of his eyes filled the boy with disappointment. He would rather be dead and free than to live this parody of life.

''Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,'' he whispered into the silence. Milton's Paradise Lost... How often he laughed at that poem? Apparently he did not understand it as well as he thought he did and the echo of those words seemed to be mocking him.

Ciel pulled the blanket over his head, well-aware how childish that gesture was and felt ashamed for a second.

''Who am I trying to impress here?'' muttered the boy, hugging his knees tightly. He wanted to punch something – or rather – someone.

Another voice, deep and smooth like poisoned honey disturbed the cold silence of Ciel's room. ''I cannot tell, but I find it hard to believe you would ever stoop so low as attempting to impress your humble servant... young master.''

* * *

...


End file.
